Give Me One Reason
by BronteLover
Summary: Dean Winchester was the ultimate bad boy before he got convicted of murder eleven years before. Now he's coming back to Sommersville and the town is aflame with gossip. One of the only people who ever believed Dean's innocence was his high school English teacher, Sam Singer. Their relationship soon becomes a burning affair, and Sommersville is even more scandalised. When a second m
1. Chapter 1

_**Note: **_

When I was sixteen I read a book called One Summer by Karen Robards and I loved it. This story is inspired by that novel, but I have made numerous changes of course. The title of the story is inspired by Tracy Chapman's song of the same name.

**_Prologue _**

Dean zipped up his jeans and looked at Cassie once more as she lay only partly dressed on the blanket at his feet. He smiled at her as he knelt down and kissed her once more, revelling in the soft, little moan she made as his tongue explored her partially open mouth.

"You should be getting back," Dean said. "Your papa will wonder where his baby girl is."

Cassie shrugged and idly played with Dean's belt, "I don't care. He should learn to mind his own business."

Dean titled her chin up so that she'd meet his gaze again, "He's your father, Cassie. He _should _care about you. It's right that way, not like with my dad."

"I guess," she sighed. "I just don't understand his problem with you and me."

"Yes you do," Dean softly replied. "You're the preacher's daughter, and I'm the son of the town drunk. You're precious goods, and I'm trash."

"Don't say that, Dean," Cassie pouted. "_You're _not trash."

"That's real sweet. Now come on, let me walk you back."

Cassie pulled her pristine white blouse back on and straightened her checked skirt, "You'd better not. I don't feel like having another blowout with my dad because some nosy asshole sees us together, and he hears through the grapevine."

Dean nodded, "Okay, baby, but be careful."

"I promise," she smiled.

Dean kissed her one last time, long and deep, before playfully tapping her nose and making his way back to the decidedly less classy side of town than where Cassie lived.

She watched him walk away until her disappeared behind the fringe of trees, and then she turned to gather the blanket she'd brought.

She got a fright when she saw that she wasn't alone, and said, "Oh shit. You scared the bejesus out of me!"

The other person didn't respond and Cassie frowned slightly in confusion, before she saw something glint in the sunlight, and she felt a strange pain and warmth at her throat. Dazedly, she brought her hand to the source of the strange sensation, and realised with a kind of detached horror that her hand was soaked in blood, and that the front of her blouse was, too.

As she collapsed, and her attacker laid into her with vicious stabs of their long knife, she thought how sweet the air smelled, and then blood flowed into her eyes, before darkness descended behind her eyelids.

* * *

**Chapter One: **Dean Winchester

Sam Singer nervously tapped his foot as he waited for the bus to arrive at the stop. A cloyingly sweet odour filled his senses suddenly, and he shuddered at the realisation that there was a bush of summersweet swaying in the hot breeze. He had never been very fond of the smell, but it had seemed to become even more suffocating after featuring in Cassie Robinson's tragic murder.

Sam had just secured a job at the local high school at the time, and he was heading to the school to prepare for the first day of school the following year. He had been one of the first unwilling witnesses to Cassie's flower christened corpse. The sweet smell had mixed in with the pungent odour of the blood which covered her body, and made everything more vivid, more horrific.

Sam looked about himself to see who was near the bus stop. Ruby Davies, the secretary to the local dentist was standing at the ATM, and her boyfriend, Luc Phillips was waiting in his shiny green pick-up truck. They had both matriculated the year before, and Sam had taught them English, like he had taught many of the other barely post-adolescent members of the town.

He thought back to that day when he had seen Cassie, glassy eyed and dead in the summer sun. When he had heard that Dean's semen had been found in the girl's body, he knew that Dean would be convicted for the grisly crime. He had been right, although they had eventually dispensed with the rape charge, because the entire town knew that Cassie had been willingly involved with Dean in that regard. Sam had never been able to believe that Dean was capable of either of those unforgiveable crimes. Dean Winchester, who Sam had taught high school English, and who despite his belligerent image and undeniable sexuality, Sam knew to be clever and capable of wonderful insight. Eleven years ago, Dean had been convicted of murder, and today, with Sam's help, he was coming home. Sam just hoped that his decade long instincts about Dean were right, and that Dean did indeed have some place within this rather narrow minded community.

The sound of the bus' roaring engine roused him from his thoughts, and he unconsciously held his breath as he watched it stop. The large door swung open and an old lady, followed by a tired looking salesman type, and a yawning young woman descended the steps and made their way away from the bus across the sizzling asphalt. Then Sam saw him. Dean Winchester. His heart squeezed tightly for a moment before it released and began to pound in an unnerving rhythm.

Dean stood on the top step of the bus for a moment, before he descended the stairs and stepped onto the road. Sam couldn't help but let out a soft gasp at how much Dean had changed. He was no longer that beautiful boy who wore a leather jacket to make himself look older. He was a man now, and his leather jacket made him look dangerous and disturbingly sensual. His hair was even shorter than it had been when he was a teenager, with almost shaved sides, and spikes of dark blonde on top. He was still beautiful, but his emerald gaze was harder and steadier in its unrelenting assessment of his surroundings. His long legs were clad in dark blue jeans, and every ridge of his hard body was outlined by his thin white t-shirt. He looked slim- no that wasn't the right word for what he was, his physique was too hard and masculine. _Lean, _Sam's heat fogged mind supplied, and his skin momentarily tightened at the suggestiveness of the word.

He suddenly realised that Dean was staring at him, and mentally shook himself before he made his way towards the other man. He didn't realise the pavement was so high, and just saved himself from a graceless face dive onto the black top. When he regained his footing, he was caught in the scrutiny of those green eyes once more, and he swallowed nervously.

"D-Dean," he stammered. "Welcome back."

Dean inclined his head slightly and made a non-committal sound before he replied, "Hello, Mr Singer."

Sam bit his lip before he re-joined, "M-my car is parked over there."

"Let's go."

Sam nodded and started to walk in the direction of the old blue Mercedes he'd inherited from his father. He cringed slightly as he saw that Ruby Davies and Luc Phillips were both staring at Dean as he swaggered behind Sam. Ruby still had her money and card in her hand as she gawped at Dean, and Luc had a can of Pepsi suspended half way to his lips, as if he was frozen in time. Sam straightened his shoulders as he slid into the driver's seat, and then his eyes widened as he realised that Dean was throwing a zap sign at the scandalised witnesses. Sam groaned inwardly, there was no doubt that the _whole _town would be aware by nightfall of the infamous return of Dean Winchester, thanks to Ruby's back biting and gossiping mother, Lilly Davies.

"Did you have to do that?" Sam hissed as Dean gracefully slid into the passenger seat.

"Sure did," Dean smirked, tossing his duffel bag into the back seat.

Sam rolled his eyes, "Put your seatbelt on, please. I don't want to get a fine."

"Yes sir," Dean replied, making a big show of complying with Sam's request.

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes again as he put down the hand break and applied pressure to the accelerator. The car sped onto the road, leaving the smell of burnt rubber in their wake.

"Jesus!" Dean snapped, smirk vanished. "Would you slow _down_?"

Sam braked jerkily, causing Dean to swear softly, and grate out, "Where the _fuck _did you learn how to drive? The Indie 500?"

Sam clenched his jaw, "_Don't _swear at me, Dean. I won't allow it."

Dean looked out the window, his fists unclenching and clenching until he flattened his long fingered hands on his thighs, "Are you nervous or something?"

Sam frowned, "No. Why should I be?"

"Oh I don't know. Maybe you figure I'd try and rape you or something."

Sam clucked his tongue, "I hardly think you'd try such a ludicrous thing, Dean. Besides, I'm taller than you and I can hold my own."

Dean looked at him again, his heated green gaze travelling over Sam's slim frame, and he slowly licked his lips as he replied, "I'm sure you can."

Sam felt himself flush, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened at Dean's suggestive tone and demeanour. He refused to reply, and silence filled the car for the rest of the ride, but Sam couldn't miss the small smirk that played on Dean's full lips the entire time.

He felt blessed relief when they pulled up next to the bookstore on the high street.

Killing the engine, he turned to Dean and handed him a small bundle of keys, "The two silver ones are for the bookstore and the bronze one is for the flat you'll be staying in."

Dean nodded, and then asked, "Why did you give me this job? Aren't you nervous that I'll attack someone else now that I'm out of my cage?"

Sam frowned, "I don't think that at all, Dean. You and I both know that you didn't kill Cassie Robinson."

Dean gazed out of the windscreen for a while before he leaned back and retrieved his duffel bag. Sam watched with a strangely tight feeling in his stomach as Dean climbed out of the car.

He stopped on the sidewalk and leaned into the open car door, "I thought you should know that you look just as hot as you did when you were my teacher."

With that parting comment, he slammed the car door and descended the stairs that led to the flat beneath the bookstore. Sam stared after him until he realised his mouth was wide open, and he promptly shut it before he gunned the ignition once more and sped away from the curb.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: **Gossip

"Mama!" Ruby called out as soon as she got home.

She had had to give Luc a blowjob in order to get him to take her home early, but she wasn't too phased about the whole thing, because she knew she could get him to do almost anything that way.

"Mama!" she called again, as she made her way out onto their large house's spacious back porch. "I have something absolutely delicious to tell you!"

Lilly Davies was reclining on one of the deck chairs next to their sparkling blue pool. She held a martini in her one hand, and a copy of _The Cross and the Switchblade _(complete with colour photos from the Hollywood Motion Picture!) in the other.

"What is it, dear?" she asked, titling her sunglasses down as she assessed her almost twitching daughter.

Ruby had to stop herself from bouncing on the spot, and clutched her hands in front of her immaculate white skirt, "_Dean Winchester_ is back in town! And guess who picked him up from the bus stop!"

Lilly laid her book down on the small rattan table next her, and demanded, "Who?"

"Sam Singer! Can you _believe _it? I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my very own eyes! And mother, Dean made a very uncouth gesture towards Luc and I!"

Lilly waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, "I expect nothing less from trash like Dean Winchester! How did he look?"

Ruby felt a slight pull in her stomach at the memory of the man Dean had become, "He looked like _pure _sin, Mama! I couldn't believe it! It was like seeing the Devil himself."

Lilly tapped her bright red lips with the arm of her sunglasses, "I think everyone else deserves to know that that menace is back in town!"

Ruby nodded in enthusiastic agreement, as her mother went inside to warn the other decent folks in town of Dean Winchester's unwelcome return.

* * *

"Mavis! You will _never _believe what Lilly Davies told Janet Foley this morning!" Sue Ellen exclaimed, as she put a can of pees in her shopping trolley.

"What?" Mavis asked, her eyes lighting up instantly at the prospect of gossip.

Sue Ellen spoke in a stage whisper, "Dean Winchester has been released from prison! And you'll _never _guess who picked him up at the bus stop!"

Mavis' eyes widened, "Dean Winchester? But how can that be? He's in prison for murder! Who would ever pick him up! It's not like his brother could. Not with his _drinking._"

"It was-" Sue Ellen began.

"Me," a calm, deep voice cut in, and both women's heads snapped up to regard Sam with shocked faces. "I picked Dean up from the bus stop. I've given him a job at my bookstore."

Mavis and Sue Ellen's mouths opened and closed like deprived guppies for a few moments before Sue Ellen said, "Samuel Singer! How _could _you? That boy is a _murderer_!"

Sam's tone remained impassive as he replied, "I don't believe that, Mrs Phillips. I'm sorry if you and your son, Luc, are upset by the news, but I don't think that it's really your business who I choose to employ in the bookstore."

"That boy is _evil, _Sam!" Mavis exclaimed, gripping the simple gold cross at her wrinkled neck. "His whole family is damned to Hell and Damnation! His father was already claimed for his _sinful _lifestyle! And there's no doubt that Dean Winchester has the same coming to him!"

Sam sighed, "I don't think that that's very fair, Mrs Wilkes. We all know that John didn't deserve to die the way he did. I don't think God would ever be so cruel as to wish such a terrible death on any of his children."

Mavis' mouth became puckered, as if she had just swallowed a lemon, as Sue Ellen replied, "You'd better watch yourself, Sam. Don't let that boy corrupt you! You come from good, Christian stock, and you don't want a _Winchester _to pollute that."

Sam raised an eyebrow, "I think I've already achieved that to some regard with my unchristian union with Balthazar."

Sue Ellen's jaw made an audible clacking sound as she shut her mouth, and Mavis noticeably paled at the mention of Sam and her son's relationship.

"Have a good afternoon," Sam smiled politely as he turned away from the stunned women, and made his way to the tills.

* * *

Despite the fact that Sam had had a small victory with the gossiping old women at the grocery store, he felt tired and mentally restless. He had wanted to help Dean, but he should have known that being a Good Samaritan would be rather difficult in a small, religious town like Sommersville.

He was surprised that the townsfolk didn't refuse to have a homosexual teaching their children high school English, but then again, Sam came from a respected family, and he lived a quiet life. He and Balthazar had a solid relationship, which they made no attempt to flaunt around town.

As he drove through the gates of their property and drove down the long drive to park his car in one of the five garages, he thought about the fact that he didn't actually love Balthazar. He knew he should have felt disappointment at the knowledge, but he knew that it was for the best. When he had been younger, he had been in love with Castiel, but that had all fallen apart, and their brief sexual encounters with each other had left him feeling unsatisfied, and believing that the poets had grossly exaggerated the pleasures of the flesh. It was far wiser to be part of a convenient and stable union, than one which was full of draining emotion. He was no longer that naïve, nervous young English teacher he had been with Castiel.

He supposed that that was why he was so annoyed with himself over the way he had acted around Dean that morning. Surely, he at the ripe old age of thirty four could resist the sexual advantages of a twenty eight year old, no matter how maddeningly sexy and confident he was. It wasn't only the fact that Dean had the face of an angel and the body of a demon, but the fact that he was Dean Winchester, one of Sam's ex-pupils, and one who Sam cared about. He remembered finding Dean in the backseat of his beloved '67 Chevy Impala, reading _Flashman _by George MacDonald Fraser. Hardly the kind of reading that anyone expected a supposedly culturally inept seventeen year old to be reading, if Sam had listened to his colleagues, which he hadn't made a habit of doing. Dean had tried to act tough and confrontational at Sam's discovery, but Sam had simply smiled, and given him a copy of _Sharpe _by Bernard Cornwell to read.

Sam sighed as he took the groceries out of the boot and walked into the house. Missouri was in the kitchen cooking lunch, and Sam kissed her on the cheek as he put the parcels down on the counter.

"How's your day been, honey?" she smiled, as she floured the chicken pieces.

Sam ran his hand through his hair, "Not great."

Missouri frowned, "How come?"

"Well you know that I picked up Dean Winchester this morning."

She nodded as she wiped her hands on her apron and leaned against the counter, "How'd that go?"

He shook his head, "Not wonderfully. He's as cocky as ever. And the rumour mill is already just about catching fire with the news of his return."

Missouri chuckled, "I always liked that boy, though. Most handsome devil I ever saw. I'd watch that one if I were you. It's no secret that he's always had an eye for you."

Sam blushed to the roots of his hair, which made Missouri laugh even more.

"He confirmed as much when I dropped him off at the bookshop earlier," he admitted. "I think he's just a compulsive flirt, though. And he enjoys making me uncomfortable."

"I don't know, honey," she smirked. "You're quite an eyeful yourself."

Somehow he managed to blush even harder at that, but he sighed when he saw his sister, Anna, entering the kitchen.

"Sam," she greeted primly. "I have to talk to you."

"What is it, Anna?" he sighed, packing the groceries away.

"I heard from Becky Rosen that you hired _Dean Winchester _at the bookshop? How could you? How and why is he even out of jail?" she asked icily.

Sam remained calm, "He needed a job in order to get parole, and I needed a manager for the store since Meg moved to Atlanta with her husband."

Anna threw her hands up in a defeated gesture, "That man is _trouble, _Sam! We don't need to be associated with his kind."

"Last time I checked, dad gave the bookshop to _me _to run, and gave _you _and Castiel the scrap yard and garage to run. I don't interfere in your affairs, so I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't interfere in mine," he replied coolly.

"Listen here-"

"Anna," came their stepmother, Jody's, voice. "I believe your brother is right. Let it lie."

Anna huffed and stormed out of the kitchen.

"Hello mother," Sam smiled, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Haven't arrested anyone today I hope?"

Jody smiled at him, "No. Thankfully being sheriff in this town is pretty peaceful. Although I'd arrest Lilly Davies for her big mouth if I could."

Sam squeezed the bridge of his short nose, "I could ring she and her daughter's necks. I suppose it was inevitable, though. Dean couldn't have returned without making some waves."

Jody shook her head, "You know I never believed he killed Cassie. Unfortunately the evidence was dead set against him, but I never stopped lobbying for him. Now that he's home, I wish that he'd be given some peace."

"I know," Sam smiled, softly squeezing her shoulder. "You're the reason he got parole. I just want him to have a second chance is all. I feel like it's time everyone moved on."

"It's easier said than done, Sam. The Reverend lost a daughter after all, and you don't ever get over that."

Sam thought of Cassie Robinson in all her youthful beauty and vivacity, hardly the picture of the preacher's dutiful daughter. He thought of she and Dean together, and imagined the thrill of rebellion she must have felt at being involved with him. Sam wondered how a summer romance could have erupted into such tragedy, but he thought that that would probably remain a mystery clouded in summersweet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:** Coming Home

After Dean had unpacked his measly possessions and stared at the apartment for about half an hour, he decided that he needed to go and see his brother, Adam.

He pulled his leather jacket back on and locked everything up before he began the long walk to the seedier side of Sommersville. The high street soon gave way to the open veld and then he saw the lights of the neighbourhoods that he had known as a child. Places where the houses were like defeated faces with blank eyes and yawning mouths. The front gardens were mostly dried grass and earth that had withered away under the eye of neglect.

His heart began to thud louder as he made his way down the street he had lived on for seventeen years, with his father and brother. Memories of childhood loneliness and sadness seemingly permeated the hot night air as he walked. Before he could properly digest the fact, he was standing in front of his childhood home.

Somehow it looked even worse than it had when he was a teenager. In the mingled light of the street lamp and moon he could see that the roof was near to caving in, and the wall's exterior paint was peeling off like some terrible skin disease. The front lawn was nothing but loose dirt and the drive was more weeds than gravel.

Dean knocked on the front door and saw that the screen had a large rip in it. His knock went unanswered so he went inside the house. It was in complete darkness so he tried to turn on the light, but the electricity had obviously been cut off. He navigated his way through the empty living room and went down the short passage which the bedrooms led off of.

For a moment the house was completely quiet except for the sounds of neighbours going about the nightly, and the distant hum of traffic on the highway outside of town. Then he heard a kind of rustling in the main bedroom, and he followed the sound. He drew in a shocked breath at what he saw. His brother was lying on the mattress wearing nothing but faded blue jeans. His skin seemed to glow in the moonlight that spilled through the bare window. For a split second, Dean was convinced that his brother was still twelve years old, but then he saw how much taller he was and the illusion was broken.

He was so thin that Dean could see his ribs through his chest, and the waistband of his jeans gaped around his protruding hipbones. Dean wanted to vomit when he drew closer to the bed and saw the faded and fresh track marks on his brother's arms. How could he bear this? To see his brother so low. The roomed smelt closed in and ripe, so Dean opened the window and took great gulps of the night air before he faced Adam once more. When he turned back to face his older brother, Adam was sitting up and staring at him.

"Adam," Dean murmured, nearing the bed again. "How-"

"Get the fuck out, Dean," Adam spat.

Dean stopped and stared at his brother, "What?"

"You heard me! I said get the _fuck _out. I don't need you here."

"Adam listen-"

"No, Dean, _you_ listen. I've managed to get by for a decade without you. So you can just fuck off out of my house."

"What the fuck, Adam?" Dean ground out. "What have I done to you to deserve this?"

Adam shook his head and smiled strangely, "You left me, Dean. You left me all alone with _him. _You were his favourite son and then you left, and he hated me."

Dean took a step forward, but Adam held his bony hand up in a halting gesture.

"What is this, Adam?" Dean demanded. "You're a junkie now? What the hell happened to you?"

Adam stared at Dean for a few minutes before he started laughing loudly, and spat, "Even after all that time in jail you're still a righteous dickhead! What business is it of yours what I am? I haven't seen you since I was twelve!"

"Adam please," Dean pleaded.

"_No_, Dean. It's done. You can't be my angel of salvation. I want you to leave."

Dean gazed at his brother in shock. Gone was that sweet, skinny twelve year old boy who wanted nothing more than to be Dean's shadow. What sat on the bed now was a broken boy, barely a man, who would not accept his help. Dean wanted to rage and scream at whatever forces were responsible for this terrible decline, but he did none of those things. He nodded his head instead and turned away, feeling defeated by his brother's outright rejection.

When Dean stood outside of the house once more, the night air felt cloying and suffocating in its thickness and heat. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he thought of what his brother looked like, and how he could not help him. He could not help someone who had come to hate him. Dean was sorry for what crimes, real and imagined, he was guilty of committing against his younger brother.

He sighed heavily as he began to walk back down the road in the direction in which he had come. Something made him look up, however, and he saw a shape that he would never be able to mistake for anything else. An old grey tarp lay over it, and Dean quickly removed it to reveal the most beautiful car he had ever known. His father's 1967 Chevy Impala. He ran a hand over the slightly dulled paintjob, and looked her over with the gaze of a loving father.

"Hey Baby," he murmured. "Haven't seen you in a while."

Considering that she had sat under an old car port and a grizzled old tarp for a decade, she still looked damn good. The tyres were flat from years of neglect, and when Dean inspected the interior he could see that the carpets were in serious need of a thorough shampooing, but Dean was just so happy to see her. Especially after his brother's hostile reaction to his return.

Dean climbed into the driver's seat and slipped his hand into the glove box. The keys were right where his father had always kept them. The engine soon came to life and Dean listened to the steady rumble for a moment, before he slowly drove his Baby onto the road.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:** Old Wounds

"Sam," came Pamela's husky voice over the phone. "We've got a problem."

_What a surprise_, Sam thought derisively.

"What's up, Pam?" he asked.

"You'd better get down here. It ain't pretty. Reverend Robinson and Dean got into a bit of a _confrontation."_

"Shit," Sam breathed. "I'll be right there. I just need to lock up my classroom."

Sam was grateful that this had at least happened after school, otherwise he wasn't entirely sure what he would have done.

After he'd locked everything up and hurriedly shoved everything into his car, and tried to drive responsibly despite feeling slight panic, he arrived at the bookshop.

He saw that Jody's police car was parked next to the pavement and a rookie cop in uniform was standing at the door to the shop. Sam jogged down the steps and pushed the door open after giving the young policeman a perfunctory nod of acknowledgement.

"Reverend please calm down," came Jody's voice.

When Pam saw him, she came up to Sam and began to frantically whisper, "The Reverend came into the store because he'd heard Dean was working here. Then he punched Dean while he was shelving books in the back."

Sam sighed as he ran his hand through his hair, "Thanks, Pam. Go take your lunch while I clear this up."

"Sure thing, boss," Pam winked and disappeared into the back room.

Jody nodded to Sam as he approached the small group she, the Reverend, Dean and another young cop were standing in the centre of the store.

"You know Reverend," Jody said. "If Dean wanted to, he could file a charge of assault against you."

"Let him just try! The murdering bastard! He shouldn't be allowed to come back to the town where he killed by precious Cassie!" Reverend shouted, pointing at Dean.

"Come on, Reverend," Jody replied flatly. "Let Officer Thompson drive you home."

"So you're just going to let that son of a bitch go?"

"Yes, Reverend," Jody replied in a tired voice. "He's broken no laws."

The Reverend fixed Dean with a withering glare before he stormed out of the shop, while swatting the police officer's hand off his shoulder.

"Well," Jody sighed. "I'd tell you stay out of trouble, Dean, but it seems that it's already found you. You'd better get that lip seen to. I have to go and make sure the Reverend doesn't put the fear of God into my officers. See you at home, Sam."

Sam gave her a kiss on the cheek before the door shut behind her, leaving Sam and Dean alone in the store. Sam looked at Dean properly for the first time and saw that he had a split lip and blood on his teeth. Blood also stained the collar of his faded Van Halen t-shirt.

"Come on," Sam said. "Let's go to the apartment and get you cleaned up."

Dean arched a brow and managed to still smirk despite his split lip, "Trying to get me alone, Teacher?"

Sam rolled his eyes as he went into the back and took the stairs that led to the door of the apartment. Once they were inside, Sam went into the kitchen and wrapped some ice in a cloth for Dean's injured lip. When he turned around, Dean had removed his shirt and held it in his hand. Whatever he had done in prison, clearly he had had time to work out. _A lot_. His skin was golden and smooth over his sharply defined pectorals and the hard ridges of his abdomen. Sam imagined himself dropping to his knees and tracing that beautiful stomach with his tongue. Dean's arms were corded with sinuous muscle and his hips were narrow, with the sharply defined lines of his pelvic muscle leading into his jeans. His chest was smooth save for a light sprinkling of hair in the centre of his chest, which matched the silky line that began at his navel and disappeared beneath his waistband.

He gazed at Sam with wicked intent in his bright green eyes. It was obvious that he meant to perturb Sam, but Sam was determined to not let him know that he had. He had to maintain the demeanour of the calm, collected teacher.

"What are you doing?" he asked in his customary teacher's voice.

"Changing my shirt," Dean re-joined silkily. "What did you think I was doing? Planning on ravishing you against the kitchen counter?"

Dean took a purposeful step forward until he was only a few inches away and Sam could feel his body heat and smell his rich, spicy scent. He met Dean's eyes and saw that they were narrowed, with his pupils dilated and the green more of an emerald now.

"Were you hoping?" he whispered, his voice like silky sin.

For a moment Sam felt as if his heart would stop beating. There was no doubt that Dean Winchester was coming onto him with the intent of scaring him slightly. Although Sam was slightly taller, he could appreciate how strong Dean probably was. Dean was like a child who was repeatedly told that he was naughty, and like a child, he was determined to uphold that long held image of rebellion.

This realisation made Sam lift his chin slightly and scoff, "You flatter yourself. Now put this ice on your lip."

Dean stared at him for a moment, his eyes still burning bright in his exquisite face. Sam felt an overwhelming desire to throw the ice pack on the floor and let Dean take him against the counter, but he revolted against his thoughts and continued to hold the ice pack out to Dean.

"Still the same Mr Singer," Dean replied, taking the ice pack. "Still have an answer for everything."

"Not everything," Sam admitted, pushing his hands into his pockets.

"Almost."

Dean gave him a lazy once over before he left the kitchen with the ice pack pressed to his lip. Sam sagged against the counter in a wave of relief, and had to grip the edge in order to keep himself up after such a mentally taxing conversation. Sam couldn't help but watch him leave, which was not the most intelligent thing to do. The amount of sensuality Dean boasted was quite mind boggling. His back was all long, lean bronze skin, which tapered down to slim hips that Sam could imagine clinging to, and a mouth-watering backside which was accentuated by faded blue jeans that hugged long legs that ended in worker boots. The sight of him doing nothing more suggestive than walking away was enough to make Sam's cock throb.

Sam exhaled softly. It was perfectly natural to feel attracted to someone who was both seemingly forbidden, as well as in possession of a body which was unadulterated sin, and a face that was almost ethereal in its beauty.

Sam was not, however, one of Dean Winchester's groupies, as the press had called the numerous young women who'd frequented his trial and then written perfume drenched letters to him while he was in jail. Dean Winchester was not a man who Sam should _ever_ get involved with.

When the old wooden boards of the apartment's floor creaked, Sam straightened up from the counter. Dean came into view once more, and Sam could see that he now wore a Jimi Hendrix t-shirt and had washed the blood off his lips and teeth.

"Are you hungry?" Sam found himself asking.

Dean scratched idly at his perfectly flat stomach, a movement which despite being seemingly innocent, dripped indolent sex appeal.

"Sure," he replied. "Are you going to take me out for dinner, Teacher?"

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean's suggestive smirk, "I suppose. I was thinking we could go to The Roadhouse."

Dean shrugged, "Lead the way."

* * *

The Roadhouse was a diner come bar in the restaurant district of Sommersville, and was run by Ellen Harvelle, a tough woman who had a brilliant mind for a business. Sam had always both admired her and felt intimidated by her.

She was all friendliness, though, as she showed them to a booth towards the back of restaurant.

"It's good to see you again, Dean," she smiled. "I'll send Jo over to take your order. She'd love to see you."

Sam quirked a brow at Dean as Ellen walked away, and Dean gave him a knowing smile in return.

"Dean Winchester!" Jo Harvelle said when she approached the table. "You are a sight for sore eyes! How are you?"

Dean grinned up at the petite blonde, "I'm fine, Jo, and you?"

Jo gave him a seductive little smile, "As good as I can be I guess. I've got a son now. His name's Sebastian."

Dean's smile widened even more, "That's great! Who's the lucky man who landed you?"

Jo shrugged and her face looked rather pained for a moment before the smile returned, "Mike Hammond, but he and I have been separated for a while now."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Jo," Dean replied, and Sam noted that he seemed to be sincere in his concern.

Jo shrugged lightly, "So what can I get you two to eat?"

"I'll have the chicken sandwich and a peach ice tea please," Sam smiled.

Jo quickly scribbled on her notepad, "And you, Dean?"

"I'll have the cheeseburger and fries and a large Coke please."

"Sure thing. Your order will up in a minute."

Dean gave her another blinding smile before she retreated to place their order.

"_She _seems happy to see you," Sam observed rather blandly.

Dean's customary smirk appeared once more, "Why, Teacher? Are you jealous?"

Sam blinked once before he replied, "Your opinion of yourself astounds me."

Dean slowly licked his lips before Jo appeared with their order, "Here we go. I hope you enjoy it."

Sam took a sip of his ice tea as he watched Dean begin to eat with unbridled enthusiasm. It was like a new Hell to watch Dean close his eyes in bliss as he chewed his burger and chips. He made little moans of contentment, which made Sam's stomach knot and churn with arousal. He resolutely stared at his plate or out the window at the parking lot as he ate, determined not to make a complete idiot out of himself in public.

"Something the matter?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head, "Nothing. I'm just tired is all."

Dean nodded, "I'm going to get some pie. Do you want some?"

Sam groaned inwardly at the prospect of more satisfied moans, "No thanks, I'm good."

Dean ordered Pecan pie and Sam tried not to go insane from the amount of sounds he made, which conjured images inside Sam's mind that he wanted to blush at.

He all but sagged with relief when Jo came back to the table, "Is that all for you?"

"Yes," Sam replied.

"Are you paying with credit or cash?"

"Credit."

"Cash," they replied at the same time.

"Dean," Sam said. "I'll pay with my credit card. It's fine."

"_No_," Dean shook his head, his expression brooked no argument. "I'll pay."

Sam sighed and crossed his arms in irritation as Dean fished in his pocket and set a bunch of crumpled bills on the table.

Jo smiled as she quickly counted them out and then gave him his change, "How about you come and see me sometime, Dean? Sebastian and I are living above the restaurant again."

"Sure thing," Dean returned her smile.

Sam stood up next to Jo and towered over her as he said, "Thanks, Jo."

She nodded and blushed slightly, "It was nice seeing you again, Mr Singer."

Sam could hear the whispers and see the rather obvious stares that everyone gave them as he and Dean exited the restaurant. Sam could see in the tightness of his jaw and the straightening of his shoulders that Dean wasn't happy about walking the gauntlet. He was grateful that he was slightly taller so that he could keep up with Dean's rather fast stride.

When they climbed into the car, Sam couldn't contain himself anymore, "That was totally unnecessary. There's no reason for you to prove yourself to me or anyone else by paying for that meal. I was more than happy to do it."

Dean's gaze was like green ice as he looked at Sam, "Listen, _Teacher, _quit acting like all like a pompous pratt. I ain't expecting you to treat me like some charity case."

Sam viciously bit his tongue as he reversed the car and screeched out onto the road.

"_Jesus_," Dean snapped. "Do you mind not driving like someone possessed?"

"You know what," Sam said. "_Screw _you."

He almost drove into the pavement when Dean let out a long, loud laugh and said, "If only, Teacher."

"You-you should be grateful!"

"For what exactly?" Dean ground out, his eyes still icy. "For letting me be seen with you? The Prince of Sommersville! What do you want me to kiss first? Your ass or your feet?"

Sam stopped the car in front of bookshop, causing he and Dean to both be thrown forward and then backwards into their seats. Sam switched the car off and undid his seatbelt before he leant over and rummaged in his cubbyhole.

He pulled out his checkbook and attached pen as he turned to Dean, "I'm going to pay you your first week of wages in advance."

Sam let out a gasp as Dean gripped his wrist tightly and forced him to stop writing. Sam looked up and saw that instead of ice, he was met with green fire that both frightened and aroused him in its intensity.

"Don't do me any fucking big favours, Teacher," he growled. "I'm not your fucking pet project or charity case."

He released his bruising grip on Sam's wrist, and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Leaning into the open passenger side window he stared at Sam for a long moment, and it looked as if he was on the verge of saying something else, but then he raked his gaze angrily over Sam's body and strode away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:** Dirty Dancing

Sam could not concentrate on the high school's choir and orchestra concert. He tried to concentrate as the high, flowing voices intertwined with the notes coming from the violins and flutes, but his mind kept wondering to other things. Things which he definitely should not be thinking about.

He imagined himself following Dean into the apartment and telling him he was sorry for being such a presumptuous fool. Dean turning around and instead of telling him to leave, taking him to his bedroom and making love to Sam. Making love to him until his mind was awash with sensation and sound.

Balthazar's hand on his thigh roused him from images of slick bodies moving together in frenzied ecstasy. He thought about anything not remotely arousing in order to quell the burning arousal in his abdomen, and soften the evidence of it in his pants.

Finally the concert came to an end, and everyone applauded before they rose from their seats and made their way to the refreshments tables set up on the lawn. Sam tried to focus on the steady warmth of Balthazar's hand on his back as they walked down the path leading to the lawn. He let Balthazar take him behind one of the buildings and kiss him until he could feel Balthazar's tongue in his mouth. He had to remind himself to wrap his arms around the other man's waist and reciprocate. His mind conjured images of Dean pressing him against a wall and taking him like this, but not just kissing him, but fu-

"Hey you two!" came Abby Goldman's voice.

Balthazar pulled away and smiled at her, "Hey Abby! What we can we do for you?"

Sam could hear a hint of annoyance in his voice, but Abby was blissfully unaware as she approached them.

"Tom, Madison, Lisa and Bill were saying we should all go out together tonight! Come on! They'll tell you all about it."

He and Balthazar followed her to the refreshment tables where the others were chatting and laughing.

"Hey," Lisa beamed. "I see Abby found you! Did she tell you our little plan?"

Sam shook his head and returned her smile.

"There's this new place called _Roxy's_ and apparently they've got great music and-"

"Booze!" Madison finished excitedly.

"Sounds like fun," Balthazar smiled. "Let's go."

Sam repressed an eye roll at Balthazar's habit of not consulting him in anything when he decided on something.

"Woo hoo!" Abby grinned.

* * *

They club's parking lot was almost full when they parked Balthazar's car. Sam could already hear the loud music when he climbed out and closed the passenger door behind him.

"Sounds like a real party in there!" Bill whooped as he and Lisa walked to the entrance.

The large bouncer gave them a once over before waving them in and returning to his menacing stance. Balthazar gripped Sam's wrist as if he was going to suddenly be swallowed by the floor, as they made their way to a table near the dance floor.

"What can I get ya?" the waitress, who was dressed in hardly any clothes, asked.

Sam was not an enthusiastic drinker and ordered a Heineken while the others decided to really let their hair down and ordered shots of tequila.

"Look at her!" Madison exclaimed, pointing at the dance floor.

Sam saw the woman who she was pointing at, a bleach blonde in a skin tight miniskirt and a sheer blouse that clearly showed her red lace bra beneath. Abby and Lisa both gasped in shock and giggled when the waitress returned with their drinks.

Sam took a sip of his drink and idly took in the people dancing under the flashing lights. Then his eyes fell on a couple who he had little hope of _not _recognising. Jo Harvelle wore a sleeveless blouse that was tied under her breasts to reveal her smooth stomach, and a short denim skirt that showed off her golden legs. Pressed up against her, and wearing one of his customary band t-shirts that showed his lean upper body and blue jeans that were moulded to his tight buttocks, was none other Dean Winchester. His long fingered hands gripped Jo's slim waist and moved her pelvis against his own.

Sam felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach at the completely sexual display they made. He wanted to get up and leave the club that minute, but he knew that that would cause suspicion from Balthazar and the others. He couldn't sit there watching the two of them anymore, and so he stood up and smiled slightly.

"I'm just going to the bathroom quickly. I'll be back in a minute."

They all nodded as they called the waitress over for more shots. Sam pushed through the writhing bodies as he made his way to the bathroom. Thankfully there was no queue as he shoved the door open and went straight to one of the zincs. He splashed water on his face before he stared at his reflection.

"You have got to stop this, Sam," he told his reflection. "You're here with your boyfriend. _Stop _acting like a sex starved adolescent and try and enjoy yourself."

He took a deep breath and nodded as he turned away from his reflection and left the bathroom. He pushed his way through the dancers once more, but was stopped by in the middle of the dance floor. His apology died on his lips as he realised that it was Dean who was blocking his path. He took in Dean's slightly dilated pupils and his partially open mouth, and the way his t-shirt clung to his body and how close he was standing to Sam.

"Slumming?"

"I can't say the same for you _obviously,_" Sam replied scathingly.

"Nope," Dean grinned, his eyes travelling up and down Sam's form. "This is where I belong."

Sam arched a brow and made to move past him, but Dean gripped his wrist tightly. Sam tried to slip free, but Dean's grip only tightened, and Sam didn't want to make a scene.

"I'm surprised that snore fest you call a boyfriend let you come here. He doesn't look like the type who would actually want to let you have fun."

Sam clenched his jaw and re-joined, "If you'd let me go then I'd return to him and we'd continue to have fun in our own uninteresting way."

Dean chuckled and licked his full upper lip, "Oh no, Sam. I didn't say _you_ were boring. You have so many," his gaze fixed on Sam's lower body and then returned to his face, "_possibilities._"

"Please let me go," Sam almost begged.

Dean moved so that Sam could feel his heat through his shirt, and smell the scent of leather and spice and beer on Dean's beautiful skin.

"Not until you dance with me," he husked.

"Dean _no,_" Sam protested weakly.

He felt dazed as Dean led him farther into the gyrating mass of bodies, and pulled Sam against his own hard body.

"Here's a classic for all you love birds out there!" the DJ said.

_Cry to Me _by Solomon Burke started playing as Dean pushed his denim clad thigh between Sam's legs, and he could feel the abrasion against the smooth material of his black trousers. Dean pulled his shirt out of his waistband and slid his hands over Sam's bare skin, making him draw in a sharp breath.

"Tell me you don't like this," Dean whispered. "Tell me I don't make you feel good."

Sam wanted to reply, but he was too seduced by the music and the feeling of Dean's thigh moving against his cock, and his cool hands against Sam's heated flesh. Dean moved him so that he had to arch his back and their stomachs pressed together as he slowly righted himself. He stared into Dean's hypnotic green eyes as he felt his hands slide down and firmly grip Sam's buttocks as they moved together sinuously. Dean was completely and utterly in control and made Sam's heart pound in his chest, as he directed Sam's movements, ensuring that their bodies were like two pieces of a whole.

When the song came to end, Sam's hands were still gripping Dean's t-shirt and Dean's one hand was shoved into the waistband of his trousers while the other was under his shirt. He could feel Dean's steady heartbeat and see the lights bath Dean's hair in artificial blue light. Then a rock song, that he knew but his befuddled mind couldn't place, began to play and Sam was snapped back to reality. He finally found the strength to push Dean away and frantically tucked his shirt in as he pushed through the tangle of bodies once more.

He felt Dean's hand enclose around his arm, but he yanked it away and cried, "No!"

Finally breaking free of the bodies around him, he made his way to his table and sat down next to Balthazar.

"Are you alright?" Abby frowned, and Sam could see she was quite drunk.

"I don't feel very feel," he admitted, and then turned to Balthazar. "Do you think we can go home? I think I need to rest."

"Of course."

Sam sighed in relief and stood again. He couldn't help but look at the dance floor as they left the club, and his heart squeezed painfully as he saw Dean and Jo dancing together again. He wanted to laugh bitterly. How could he have thought that Dean would do anything else? It was true that Dean wanted him, but that didn't mean that he was the only person Dean wanted.

Sam turned away and breathed in the cool air of the night, before he reached out and took Balthazar's hand.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:** Revelations

Dean stared down at his brother's corpse in shocked disbelief. His face was littered with cuts and bruises, and his features were shattered into an almost unrecognisable mask. His entire body was lacerated and bruised and swollen. The stark white of a bone stuck through his cold flesh, and his mouth was sunken in his face from his lack of teeth.

"How-how did this happen?" Dean whispered, running his fingers over the ruined flesh of Adam's cheek.

Jody sighed, "He walked in front of a train. The driver hadn't a hope in Hell of stopping."

Dean looked at her incredulously, "Why would he do that?"

Jody consolingly gripped Dean's shoulder, "He was high, Dean. I'd arrested him a dozen times for it and other things in the past. I'm sorry."

Dean shook his head, "Goddammit, Adam."

Sam sat in the upstairs bedroom with his father, Bobby Singer, as they listened to classic rock n' roll and jazz records. Julie London's smooth rendition of _Cry Me A River_ filled the room as they played chess.

"Why ya so quiet?" Bobby slurred.

Sam always felt a small pang at the fact that his father had such laboured speech now that he'd suffered a stroke. The left side of his face sagged slightly, and the attack had made him look older and frailer. He no longer wore his cap and his hair was shot through with white and balding to show his scalp.

"I'm just thinking about stuff," Sam shrugged.

"Stuff?" Bobby replied derisively.

Sam sighed, "Stuff to do with Dean Winchester."

Bobby nodded his head before he made his next move on the chessboard, "Always liked that boy. Worked for me at the yard."

Sam arched a brow, "Really? I didn't know that."

"'Course ya didn't. Never had much use for that place."

"Sorry about that, dad."

Bobby waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, "What's on your mind 'bout Dean?"

"I-"

"Sam?" came Jody's voice as the door opened.

Sam turned around and looked at his stepmother, instantly feeling worried at her saddened expression.

"Are you alright, mom?" he asked as he rose from his seat.

"Yes I'm fine. It's Dean Winchester."

"Speak of the Devil," Bobby murmured.

"What's happened? Is he okay?" Sam said.

"Yes he's fine, but his brother, Adam, he died. The funeral's today and Abby phoned and asked if you'd like to go with her."

"Of course," he turned to his father and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "We'll finish this later, dad?"

"'Course. I'll beat ya anyway."

Sam couldn't help but laugh as he left the room, but his concern over Dean soon returned. He wondered how he was doing.

"Did Dean have to identify the body?" Sam asked Jody as they descended the stairs.

"Yes," she replied docilely. "If I could have helped it I would have, but Adam was cut up real bad, and we didn't find any ID on him. I guessed that it was him, but we had to be sure."

"Of course," Sam replied, as he got his car keys off the front table.

"Where are you going?" Anna asked as she appeared from the living room.

Sam kept his tone cool as he replied, "I'm going to Adam Winchester's funeral."

Anna looked momentarily shocked before she recovered and replied, "Why even bother? He was trash and so was his brother."

Sam's grip on his car keys tightened as Jody let out a shocked exclamation at Anna's words.

"That is one of the most distasteful things I've ever heard you say, Anna," he re-joined icily. "And may I ask you what constitutes trash?"

Anna's hands fluttered at her sides for a moment, like she didn't know what to do with them.

"Are the Harvelles trash because Ellen's husband died and her daughter's separated from her husband? Or is Pamela Barnes trash because she works for me and doesn't mind working with Dean. Or is Benny Laffite trash because his wife ran away to Europe and he has to support his son on his own?" Sam demanded.

Anna stood in front of him and began to visibly pale as he towered over.

"Come on, Anna, I want to know what constitutes trash."

"Well-well I may not know how to describe but I know what it is and _who _it is when I see it!" she cried shrilly. "And you know what, Sam! So do you!"

Sam advanced on her until she had to strain her neck to look into his blazing hazel eyes, "If you can't describe what trash is, _Anna, _then maybe you should just keep your mouth shut. I'm tired of everyone in this town calling Dean Winchester trash!"

Anna's eyes narrowed and she set her shoulders back, "There's been talk about how close you are to Dean Winchester. I ignored because you're my brother and I know that you've got good enough sense to stay clear of a troublemaker, but now I'm beginning to wonder if you deserve my trust. You're just like daddy was, all bleeding heart for people who think you can fix!"

"You'd better stop talking, Anna, or I may just say something you'll really regret."

"Anna!" Jody warned. "You'd better stop it this instant, girl. A man is dead and you ought to remember that."

Anna stepped back as Sam gave her one last cold look and strode out of the house.

* * *

When Sam arrived at the funeral with Abby in tow, he did not see Dean anywhere. There were more people at the service than he'd expected, but he didn't recognise most of them.

As he and Abby made their way to some empty seats in the front of the room, he saw that Jo Harvelle and her little boy were there, too.

Jo smiled as she saw him, "Hello Mr Singer. It's good to see you."

"You too, Jo. You're son's beautiful," Sam smiled down at the dark haired little boy.

"Thank you. Sebastian's been real good today so I told him we could go to McDonald's after the service."

"Sounds like a real treat," Sam nodded, and then tentatively added, "Have you seen Dean anywhere?"

Jo shook her head, "No, but I ain't surprised."

Sam frowned, "Why not?"

"Dean saw Adam as soon as he came back, but Adam didn't want nothing to do with him. Said that Dean left him here with their father, and that it was Dean's fault everything turned out the way it did."

"But that's not true."

Jo shrugged, "Adam was always a troubled kid and he worshipped Dean, but when Dean went to prison it all changed. John Winchester wasn't a bad man, but he drank a lot and he neglected Adam. Some folks said that John wished that Adam had been the one to go to jail."

Sam shook his head, he couldn't believe what he was hearing, "That's just awful, Jo. I had no idea."

Jo smiled sadly, "Most people didn't know. Just thought Adam was like his supposed murderin' brother and didn't pay no mind. Worse thing is that Dean paid for all this, and no one will think any better of him for it, 'cause his brother was a junkie."

Sam felt as if he'd been sucker punched, he couldn't bear this.

"Sam," came Abby's voice. "The service is about to start. We'd better sit down."

Sam nodded dumbly before he turned back to Jo, "Thank you, Jo."

"It was nice talking to you, Mr Singer."

Throughout the entire service Sam couldn't stop thinking about what Jo had said, and he resolved to go and make sure that Dean was okay. When the service came to an end, he and Abby left with the rest of the people.

"Who was that you were talking to?" Abby asked as they walked to the car.

"Jo Harvelle."

"Oh yes. Ellen Harvelle's girl. She's very pretty, I can just guess what she and Dean's relationship entails."

Sam's lips thinned somewhat as they got into the car and he started the engine.

"I suppose I'd be eager for some female company after years in jail," Abby continued. "Mind you, they always said that Dean Winchester didn't mind a little female company every now and then. And with a face like, who could resist him."

Sam's fingers tightened on the steering wheel and he had to concentrate very hard not to veer into the middle of the road into oncoming traffic.

"Oh! Did you know who that man was who was in the front?" Abby asked, and then continued without waiting for a reply. "Madison told me that he was Adam Winchester's lover _and _supplier!"

"Oh no, Abby," Sam replied. "That can't be true!"

"Well it is! Madison's housekeeper told her that she used to hear talk about him visiting Adam and bringing all sorts of things with him! Oh Sam you've just missed my house!"

Sam gritted his teeth and put the car in reverse before he stopped at Abby's house.

"Is your sister coming to the restoration meeting tonight?" Abby asked as she undid her seatbelt.

"I think so," Sam replied, loath to think about his sister in that moment.

"She really is a wonderful help! We've been able to do so much to the gardens at the church since she's raised all that money for us."

Sam nodded politely, silently willing Abby out of the car.

"Well! I'll be off. Drive safely," she added with a wink.

Sam refrained from rolling his eyes with a superhuman effort before he drove off. Even though he was glad that the town was being maintained, he was not overly interested in the reservation society's efforts to restore the town's oldest church. His mind was firmly fixed on finding Dean.

When he got to the store he was rather dismayed to find that Dean was not there, and that Pamela was serving customers by herself.

"Pamela, where's Dean?" he asked when the shop was empty again.

"He didn't come to work today," Pamela replied. "I think it's because of what happened with his poor brother."

Sam nodded, grateful for Pamela's genuine sympathy, "Yes I was just at the funeral. I'll go look for him at the apartment. You can close up. It's already five o' clock."

Pamela smiled and nodded as Sam went to the back of the store and took the stairs leading down to the apartment.

He knocked several times and was beginning to feel rather concerned, when the door swung open to reveal Dean, shirtless, and holding a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

"What a surprise," he exclaimed and wildly ushered Sam into the flat. "How nice of you to visit, Mr Singer."

Sam walked into the apartment and regarded Dean's rather glassy eyed expression with concern.

"Dean," he said softly. "Why weren't you at your brother's funeral today?"

Dean leaned against the kitchen counter in order to steady himself, "So you heard what happened to him, then?"

Sam nodded, "Yes. Dean, why don't I make you some coffee?"

Dean ignored his offer and continued, "Got hit by a fucking train. Can you believe that? A fucking _train."_

Sam wanted to soothe him, but he wasn't sure how to go about it in Dean's currently agitated state. He went further into the kitchen instead and went about making Dean a cup of black coffee in order to sober him up a bit. While the kettle was boiling, he decided to make him a peanut butter and jam sandwich, too. He watched through the opening between the counter and the high cupboards as Dean stood in the living room and took long glugs of whisky from the bottle.

"Dean," he said, as he walked into the living room with the sandwich and coffee, and laid them down on the coffee table. "Here, please eat something."

Dean didn't seem to hear him, though, his eyes were staring off into the corner of the room as if he could see something playing out in the late afternoon light streaming through the nets that hung over the window.

"You know," Dean finally said. "When my father died, they wouldn't let me go to the funeral. I thought that I wouldn't care, but I _did. _I cared so much. I know he could be a son of a bitch, and he wasn't worth a damn in some ways, but he and Adam were all I had in this world."

He turned and looked at Sam with pain filled eyes, and Sam could see that he was on the verge of tears. He sagged to the floor at the foot of the couch and Sam went to him instantly, and sat down on the couch so that he could cradle Dean's head on his thigh.

Dean began to talk again in a broken whisper, his cheek against Sam's thigh as Sam stroked his short hair, "I couldn't believe it when I got the letter telling me that he'd killed himself with a shotgun, and then they said that Adam had found him, and I wanted to go to Adam so badly, but I couldn't because they wouldn't let me. I kept thinking about how it must have been for him, finding Dad there, lying in a pool of his own blood and piss. Then I saw Adam when I came back and I knew that it was all because of me, I'd let all of it happen. I should have been there to protect him, but I wasn't. I _left _him, just like he said. And now he's gone, and I ain't got no one."

"It's alright, Dean," Sam soothed. "Here drink some coffee, you need it."

Dean snapped up and his green eyes shone, "What do you know about what I need? How could you with your fancy house and your teacher's reputation. You've never known what it feels like to be called trash by the people in this town."

Sam gazed at him sadly and his voice was quiet as he said, "I know how it feels to hurt really badly. I know how feels to have your heart broken."

Dean's grip on his legs tightened for a moment and then loosened as he replied, "I got an English degree when I was in jail, and it's from a good university, too, but no one give's a damn because I'm Dean Winchester, and I murdered a girl."

He turned his head away and presented Sam with his perfect profile, "Why aren't you afraid of me? You should be. I'm a murderer."

"I've never been afraid of you, Dean," Sam said as he ran his hand down Dean's neck. "And I know you're not a murderer. None of this is your fault, Dean. You're a good man. Adam loved you, and so did John, and you loved them, and that's all that matters now."

Dean turned back to face him and his brilliant green eyes were filled to the brim with tears. He buried his face in Sam's lap as sobs shook his body, and he clutched with spasmodic strength at Sam's legs. Sam stroked his hair, neck and back and whispered words of comfort that he hoped would help to abate some of Dean's anguish. He continued to sob until he finally relaxed into Sam's soothing touch, and seemed to lie there docilely.

Sam's hand stilled on the back of his neck as he lifted his head and stared at Sam with glittering emerald eyes that rendered Sam incapable of speech or movement. His hands travelled farther upwards and gripped Sam's slim hips.

"You know what I dreamed about when I was in jail?" his voice was low, like broken glass wrapped in velvet and it made Sam shiver involuntarily. "I used to dream about you all the time. You were the only thing that I knew that was good and pure. I would dream about taking all your clothes off and having you lie naked and spread out for me. I would imagine fucking you and what kind of sounds you'd make while I was inside you. In high school, I dreamed about that, too. Since I was sixteen years old, all I thought about was fucking you."

Sam's heart thudded inside of his chest like a trapped animal at Dean's confession, and his throat went dry at the magnitude of the realisation that he had been the object of Dean's sexual desires for twelve years.

"You know what else?" Dean said fiercely. "I'm tired of fucking dreaming."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: **Ecstasy

Dean's hands tightened on Sam's hips as he pulled Sam into his lap, so that he was straddling Dean and his long legs were parted all the way up to his crotch. His hands were pressed against Dean's chest in order to brace himself, and he could feel the warm, smooth flesh that was hard beneath his fingertips and palms. He could feel the abrasive material of Dean's jeans through his own soft chinos, and the cool metal of Dean's zip and the steely length that bulged beneath and pressed against his buttocks.

"So tell me no, teacher," he said, his green eyes boring into Sam's hazel, as his fingers pushed beneath Sam's shirt and met soft skin.

His thighs were firm beneath Sam and he could feel the tantalizing stiffness of the hillock upon which he sat. The only barrier between him and it being a few layers of clothing which could be easily removed.

Sam could not say no. His body burned too fiercely for Dean to possess it, use it for his own pleasure. It seemed, despite the shock which it caused to Sam's mind, that he had wanted Dean to do that to him for most of his life.

"Dean," he whispered desperately.

His gaze dropped from penetrating green and fell to Dean's mouth, which was a mistake. Such a beautiful, full mouth, with a curling upper lip and a lower lip had a slight line in it. It looked as if Dean wanted to smile all the time from the way it curved so sensuously and lifted slightly at the corners. That slightly pink, full mouth made Sam's breathing hitch and his cock throb.

"Sam," he murmured, as he leaned forward and that maddening mouth came closer to Sam's own slightly parted lips.

Sam made a desperate sound, knowing that there was no hope of resisting the assault Dean had on his senses. The longing that swept from his head to his curling toes was breathtakingly intense.

"This is the point of no return, teacher," Dean said, his warm breath skating over Sam's mouth, almost making his eyes roll back in his head.

Sam met Dean's gaze once more, and it was dark, and hot and the green blazed like a wild cat's. That hypnotising emerald held promises of indescribable pleasure, and made Sam unable to look away as Dean's hands slipped past the waistband of his chinos and underwear. He cupped Sam's bare buttocks, his long fingered hands flat against the vulnerable skin, gently squeezing as the thumb of his right hand smoothly, and exquisitely, stroked the cleft of Sam's behind. Sam did not think that he had ever felt anything more erotic, rawer in its physicality, than Dean's hands on his bare flesh.

Dean's grip became surer and he began to move Sam back and forth against his denim clad bulge, the hot friction making Sam's cock pulse almost painfully against the thin barrier of his boxers and slightly thicker material of his pants. He arched his back, baring his throat to Dean, as he gasped and dug his short nails into the firm flesh of Dean's chest.

"You're mine, teacher," he murmured, almost triumphantly, but Sam could not be sure with the pulsing lust thrumming through his veins.

All Sam was sure of in that moment was that if Dean had tried to push him away and end this, he would have clung to Dean with all his strength, whimpering his burning need for Dean in his entirety. Dean eased him back so that his spine was supported by the plush edge of the cutch, and his one golden skinned hand came out of Sam's pants, while the other continued to squeeze his buttock, and deftly undid his trousers and slid into the front of his boxers, to delve into the pulsing thickness between his thighs.

As long, sure fingers caressed the crisp curls and rigid length, and the velvet soft testicles beneath, a choked moan escaped Sam. He heard the utterance as if someone else had made it, a stranger to the habitual order of Sam's life, someone he did not recognise. It was as if Sam had become two people, the one who had Dean's hand shoved down the back of their pants and his fingers stroking his perineum in the front, and another who seemed to be watching them.

He imagined what they would look like to an outsider. He seated on Dean's lap, with his chino clad thighs on either side of Dean's slim hips. His dark blue checked shirt, which had been meticulously ironed by Missouri, was pushed up slightly to reveal the sun kissed skin of his stomach. A pair of beige boxer briefs pulled down far enough to reveal how the dark brown trail of hair from his navel led into the almost black curls above his cock. Inside the underwear, Dean's beautiful hand was concealed as it caressed and discovered.

A sight which would have made many of the good folk in Sommersville faint, especially if they saw the soft, rosy flush as it bloomed over Sam's face and the long column of his neck. The need and pleasure making his usually soft hazel irises shine in the low light of the room like beacons of carnal want, that made his bitten lips part further and his long spine arch forward, seeking Dean's practiced and passionate touch, as it encompassed where Sam had to have him, have him or seemingly cease to exist.

Sam took Dean in, too. His green eyes danced with desire and were intent on Sam's face, his body, Dean's hand in Sam's underwear and therefore Sam's pleasure. The heat and pleasure between them seemed tangible, and it made Dean's bare, gorgeous skin glow with a light sheen of sweat. There scents mingled, Dean's spicy and rich fragrance mixing with Sam's own fresh and mountainlike smell.

Dean's cheeks had a fine layer of golden stubble on them, and he was shirtless and wore jeans that were faded and almost too tight, and the rippling of the muscles in his back and arms showed that he possessed power, that he was dangerous and could be deadly. His hair was cut close to his head, not hiding his flawless face and the delicious curve of his long neck that flowed into the hard line of his broad shoulders.

Sam, however, was cleanly shaved, and although his hair was perhaps slightly longer than the fashion, it was soft and tucked behind his ears. He wore conservative shirts that showed off his very pleasing body, but did so tastefully. He wore chinos that were cut to show the line of his long legs, but not show too much of his private places. He was groomed from his chocolate brown hair to his soft, leather loafers.

Dean's hands slipped out of his underwear with the same precision in which they had slipped in, and made to unbutton Sam's shirt. Sam pressed his arms to his stomach, though, and halted the movement. His mind filled with the image of Jo Harvelle's gently curved figure, her flat stomach below her white blouse, and he felt a sudden, white hot wave of envy fill him, and make him shake his head at Dean.

Dean shrugged and nodded, as his strong hands went back to Sam's hips and lifted him onto the couch. Sam suddenly reverted to his adolescence when he was all gangly limbs, and he teetered precariously on the edge of the couch cushions. Dean gently shoved him back so that he fell into the thickness of the cushions behind. Before he could properly orientate himself, Dean yanked his pants and underwear down his legs, and threw the seemingly offending garments over his shoulder.

"Dean…?" he breathed, but let it fade as he became aware of Dean's intentions.

"I used to sit in class," he murmured, lifting Sam's legs and resting them over his shoulders so that Sam's heels rested against his back. "And imagine that you weren't wearing any underwear, that if I got up after class and got the courage, I could just pull down your pants and take your cock in my mouth, and let you fuck into my throat while you were sitting on your desk."

Sam blinked in utter shock and husked, "_Dean."_

Dean's eyes flashed as his deep black pupils swallowed up the emerald green irises until they were like a glittering rings. Sam knew that Dean's words were completely true, and that knowledge made some fluid drip out of his slit.

He pulled Sam closer to him, so that when he spoke again, his scolding breath skated over Sam's pink entrance, "I used to think about eating you out all the time. I used to think about how you'd taste, all clean and smell like you. Like _Sam._"

"_Please…_" Sam was unsure of what he was begging for.

The thought that for twelve years Dean had thought about fucking Sam, made his muscles become useless and lax against the couch cushions, and his eyes glaze over. Sam watched, transfixed, as Dean's hands slid up from the backs of his bent knees, up his slightly pale thighs and underneath him to grip his buttocks again. There was a moment of unbearable anticipation and longing, before Dean dipped his head and did what Sam had needed him to do, what he expected Dean to do, but what made him flush with embarrassment, too.

At the feeling of Dean's hot breath _there, _Sam's spine went rigid and then relaxed. His fingers flexed against the soft cushions, and his eyes slid shut as he arched into Dean's face. Dean was so sensitive to Sam's needs, his tongue was so hot as it licked between his spread cheeks, and sent tiny shivers through Sam's body. When Sam could do nothing but chant Dean's name like a mantra, and his toes curled against Dean's smooth back, he plunged his tongue into Sam and made him climax. Sam's hands clutched abortively at the cushions as he plummeted headlong into white hot pleasure, and cried out nonsensically.

When he regained consciousness, he found that Dean's mouth was still against him, his tongue still exploring his passage. The searing need having shattered within Sam and left him wrung out, he tried to sit up and back, but Dean only tightened his grip on Sam's flesh.

"Nuh uh, Sammy," he spoke against Sam's skin, and then plunged back inside.

"But I-" Sam tried to regain coherent speech as Dean's tongue moved inside of him, and tell him that there was no need to continue now.

"Came?" Dean murmured, lifting his head from Sam's slick opening at last. "I could tell. I want you to come until you don't know what else do. I want you to come over and over. _For me."_

He moved Sam off the couch and onto the softness of the carpet, so that Sam was lying on his back, and gripping Dean's sides just below his powerful ribcage. Even though he was taller than Dean, he somehow felt delicate beneath him, completely at his mercy. His hands dropped from his sides, and too late he realised that Dean had deftly unbuttoned his shirt. He used Sam's lack of mental and physical coordination to lift him up and slide the shirt off of him, and throw it into a seemingly distant corner.

He now lay completely naked beneath Dean, who still wore his jeans and his boots. Sam made to cross his arms over his chest, but Dean grabbed his wrists and pinned his arms near his head.

Sam struggled but Dean said, "Sam," warningly and he stilled.

His hungry green eyes assessed the honey smooth skin of Sam's beautifully defined chest, and the dusky tight nipples. His gaze slid lower, over Sam's gently muscled abdomen to his dark pubic hair where his cock twitched slightly. Sam turned his head away and cringed, convinced that Dean would find him undesirable somehow.

"Beautiful, shy Sam," Dean husked, and bent to suckle on one of Sam's hardened nipples.

Sam's breath came out on a sigh as he arched into Dean's hot, wet mouth, and the searing swirl of his talented tongue. He closed his eyes and drowned in sensation as he once again completely gave himself to Dean. Dean only touched him with his mouth and hands, that were still holding Sam's wrists, and it was as if he had tied Sam down with all the capability he had to move. He slowly dragged his foot up and down Dean's denim clad calf as Dean lifted his head and sought Sam's parted mouth. His stubble scraped wonderfully against Sam's smooth cheeks, and his long, thick tongue tasted of whiskey and sin, making Sam quiver with want.

Dean encouraged Sam to fill his mouth and claim him, too, which Sam did, shedding a lifetime of rigid morality and inhibitions and he let his legs fall wide beneath Dean. Dean ended the kiss and stared down at Sam for a moment before he deftly flipped Sam onto his stomach, and smoothed his warm hand over Sam's back and buttocks. Sam keened as he felt wet heat at his entrance again and realised that Dean was opening him up more. Then the slick intrusion was gone and he looked over his shoulder to see that Dean was unzipping himself and then tearing a packet of lubricant open. He couldn't care why Dean carried that around with him as he watched Dean free himself. His cock was gorgeous, long and thick and dripping fluids as he hastily poured all of the lubricant onto his length.

Sam cried out at the feel of him, huge, hard and hot, filling Sam to bursting. Sam clung to the carpet as he ground his cock into it and his mind went blank except for pure sensation. He rode Sam hard with long, deep thrusts that hit his prostate every time, and had him clawing at the floor like a feral animal. He screamed and fucked himself back onto Dean's impaling length as he came, while Dean silently gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into Sam's flesh.

They both collapsed onto the thick carpet, and fell into a deep, sated sleep.


End file.
